Of Many Hats
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: There's a new hat shop in town, and Alice finds the hat maker and his assistant strangely familiar. Mr. Carter seems to have mistaken himself for someone else, however, and Mr. Hasen is thoroughly occupied with getting the tea on. Some Alice/Hatter.


**Of Many Hats**

Alice was— as was often the case— dreamily contemplating a myriad of pleasant ideas, and so failed to hear her elder sister's voice till it sounded, of a sudden, just behind her left ear. The younger girl yelped a bit and turned towards it.

"Oh, honestly, Alice," said her sister, vexed. "I've been calling you for some time now. I suppose you're going to tell me you didn't hear me, yet again?"

A sharp retort stung beelike at Alice's tongue. _Why, not at all_, she wanted to say. _In fact I heard every word you said, and found your frustration so amusing I couldn't bear to put you at ease! _But all she said was, "I'm quite sorry, you know. But I was rather deep in thought."

"That's certainly nothing new," said Lorina, with a sort of wry, weary patience that evoked God dealing with mortals and is the inevitable byproduct of sisterhood. "Come now, we are going into town. Mama sent me to find you."

"Just now? I'd rather stay at home, I must say."

"Nevertheless," said Lorina, and grasped her by the hand. "You are sixteen, my dear Alice, and it is time to look it. Why, when I was your age I was desperate for new dresses. The least you can do is help to choose a few fabrics."

And so Alice, perforce, came along, thinking longingly of her cheerful, dreamy idyll there in front of the picture window. A consolation, she told herself, was that daydreams were so versatile and mobile. Wherever she went, there they were, just waiting for the slightest moment of repose. It was all very well when she was alone, of course, but to resort to such things in parental company invariably landed her in trouble. In the carriage, her mother eventually reached out and rapped her smartly on the knee with her fan.

"Beg pardon?" cried Alice, startled out of her reverie back into the present.

"I have asked you four times what color you intend to look for," said her mother reproachfully, with the air of a martyr.

"Oh— I thought perhaps blue," said Alice, fibbing slightly, for she hadn't considered the matter at all. Her mother nodded deeply.

"That should be lovely, my dear. I do wonder about you, though. Honestly, where is your head at?"

_Right here_, Alice could have said pertly, pointing— but she didn't, because it was not precisely true. Her head was any number of places at any given moment; on the banks of the river Time, on the shores of some far-off Sea, engaged in a difficult and tangential Lobster Quadrille with seven partners, each of whom had at least that many legs. The possibilities were delightfully endless. But, looking at her mother, Alice knew better than to remark on them. Her comments would not be understood.

Instead she said, "I beg your pardon, mother dear. I was daydreaming, a bit."

"And who could blame her," said Lorina warmly, tucking her arm through Alice's and patting Alice's hand with her own. "On her way to choose fabric for a new dress— the places you'll go in that gown! The people you will meet!"

_Oh, I wish_, Alice could have said— and she did wish, desperately. She wanted so much to do as Lorina had said, to go places and to meet people. She had done so as a child, she could recall with perfect clarity; there were worlds within this one, she wanted to blurt out, a whole Other Place where things were different and strange. She had long ago accepted the reality that it must have been her imagination— but again, Imagination was wondrous enough Place of its own and she _did_ wish that her mother and sister could see that; even just a little. The door was open wide enough just for them to peep through, and begin to understand.

After all, if Wonderland was only in her mind— well, at least it existed somewhere.

She could hardly credit a new dress with such powers as Lorina appeared to, however. She submitted to being petted and patted and having her sister and mother believe that her enthrallment was due to a prospective wardrobe; when in fact, leaning her chin on her hand and looking out the window, she was able to drift happily back into her interrupted daydream, wherein a Knight pursued her with eyes of love, and removed from his scabbard a single red rose with a four-foot-long stem.

"Oh, Sir Knight, I couldn't possibly accept such a thing!"

_But you must_, said his eyes, beseeching. _And grant me your handkerchief, that I may wear it as milady's favor._

"Why, this?" questioned Alice, and fluttered the lace-edged fabric just above her lips. "Why, I couldn't possibly, dear sir. No, for what would I do should I need to sneeze? Why, that's not a practical solution at all."

_But what, then?_ asked the Knight soundlessly. _How shall we solve this archaic conundrum, you and I, to the mutual satisfaction of us both?_

"Perhaps we shan't," said Alice, and smiled beguilingly at him, and lurched in her seat as the carriage came to a stop. She shook herself, and peered out the window.

"Is this the dressmaker's?" she questioned doubtfully. She had been often to this part of town, but never before with such a goal as clothing herself. The cobbled streets had been washed clean with the rain, and the painted signs shone brightly in the newling sun.

"To your left," said her mother, and she turned her gaze out the other window. Sure enough, the sign on the thatched-roof building was emblazoned _G. Lovesome, Dressmaker_. Alice allowed a small sigh to escape at the sight. Through that door, she suspected, an entirely new Alice was bound to emerge, sometime shortly in the future. She didn't feel _quite_ prepared for changing so soon. She wished there had been more time for preparing in the chrysalis.

"Why, look at that!" said Lorina, with a burst of enthusiasm so rare in her nature as to be limited strictly to crocheting and tea parties. Alice, obediently, looked at that: _that_, which proved to be the building just next to the establishment of G. Lovesome. It was a good deal shorter and squatter than the dressmaker's place of business, but what notability it lacked in stature it made up for with a large and brilliantly-painted sign.

_T. Carter_, the sign said, and went on further to declaim the curious signature, _Millidasher._

"What do you suppose that is?" said Alice, wonderingly.

"There is a hat painted just below the words," said their mother. "I expect it has something to do with that."

"A new hat shop!" crowed Lorina. "Just the thing to start our Alice on a new age. After all, one cannot begin one's adult life if one does not have one's head covered properly— can one?" The last bit of the question was obviously directed at Alice, and Alice regained herself enough to say,

"I suppose one would be correct, should one assume such a thing—"

—but she was curiously distracted. Distracted in a different way than was usual, for she was not engaged in daydreaming or enjoying a brief sojourn in another world far away from this one; on the contrary, she stared quite hard at the sign of _T. Carter, Millidasher _as though she expected it to do a jig. There was something odd about it, quite apart from the curious compound word. It was something oddly reminiscent, something which made her yearn abruptly for the carefree, lackadaisical days of her youth and yet, at the same time, made her fiercely and rather vertiginously glad to be here in the present.

"I suspect," she said slowly, "a hat is just what I need."

"One could not have put it better oneself," said Lorina, triumphantly, and fairly dragged Alice down the carriage steps and over to the crooked little doorway of the millidasher's shop.

Once inside, Alice took a keen interest in her new environment. Hats of all shapes and sizes were on display— and some not so much on display as tossed haphazardly about, here and there, as though they'd been interrupted in some rampageous game of hide and seek. Alice and Lorina ventured deeper into the interior of the shop, the elder sister pouncing on various styles like a cat on a mouse. Alice poked at one or two, but saw nothing much to her liking.

"You must try them on," advised Lorina, "or else you'll never know."

"I can tell simply by looking," said Alice.

"Nonsense," said her sister, dismissively, "no one can tell what they like just by looking. You must see if they fit, and if the style flatters, and if the color suits."

"I see," said Alice, vaguely, making her way towards an enormous topper in the corner. The hat seemed to be watching her, and it made her nervous. It was perched on a stool rather than a stand, and very much gave off a proprietorial air not quite in keeping with an article of haberdashery. The slip of paper stuck demurely into the brim proclaimed it 10 and 6, in this style— a handsome piece of work, for the price.

"But this," said Lorina, enraptured, spinning around with a giant leghorn in her hands. "Wouldn't it be divine for seaside holidays?"

"Lovely," said Alice, not looking round but squinting fixedly at the topper. "But we don't take seaside holidays."

"And this," said Lorina, admiring a navy-blue troubadour with three feathers. "Why, it would suit Father perfectly, if he had a blue suit."

"Perfectly," agreed Alice, "but he hasn't a blue suit, he has only the grey." She was within a step or two now of the very distinguished hat, and catching her breath, she began to reach out towards it. Slowly and carefully, carefully and slowly— as though it would bite—

"_Have_ you answered the riddle yet?" came a boisterous voice from behind them; Alice dropped her hand and whirled around, Lorina dropped the troubadour and stepped on it, with a little scream. The owner of the voice yelped a bit as well, and shook himself like a dog, in some confusion. "I beg your pardon! I thought I was someone else."

"Not at all," said Alice, since Lorina was heartily engaged in fanning herself and making a great show of heaving bosom and alarmed girlhood. "But don't you mean you thought _we_ were someone else?"

"Hmm? Do I?" The man— for it was a man, of indeterminate age and with a rather carelessly keen face, the sort of man who shaved without a mirror and smiled without showing his teeth— turned a slightly vague look on Alice. "Well! Someone is someone else, at any rate. I don't suppose it's you—?"

"It could very well be," said Alice, with a bit of a shrug; but the man had advanced on Lorina instead, grasping her hand urgently and taking over the job of fanning.

"I beg your pardon," he said again. "I didn't mean to startle you, only I thought you were my as_sis_tant."

"I see," said Lorina, somewhat frostily. She did not take kindly to being startled, reflected Alice. "I suppose I should take that to mean that you are the proprietor of this shop?"

"I am indeed," said the man— the proprietor, of course— and he swept her a bow so deep that Alice was surprised his hat didn't fall off; except, she realized in some confusion, he was not wearing a hat. "I am the hatter, and this is my hat shop."

"Millidasher," said Alice, finally tearing herself away from the intimidating topper and joining in the conversation.

"I beg your pardon?" said the proprietor, affronted.

"Millidasher, your sign says Millidasher. What does that mean?"

"Oh, that." He gave a dismissive wave of one grey-gloved hand. "That's only to confuse people. Pay it no mind. It merely indicates— to those of a keen and incisive mind, that is— that I ply the trade of millinery, as well as haberdashery. Milliner, haberdasher— millidasher, do you see?" He beamed at them, intensely proud of his cleverness. "After all, if the ladies see that I am a haberdasher, they're unlikely to venture in— likewise, if the gentlemen see that I proclaim myself a milliner, they will more than likely not engage my services. To be a millidasher is to be all things to both sexes— if you _will _understand it that way," he added, somewhat urgently.

"Certainly," said Lorina, beginning to sound a bit less frigid by now. The hat maker was smiling at her in that curious, keen, careless way of his, and she had given up on the fanning and was now relying solely on the heaving bosom.

"Why not call yourself a hatter?" Alice wanted to know. "Then everyone would know what you were, and there'd be no confusion."

"You are a very unimaginative young woman," said the hat maker, eyes fixed on Lorina, and his voice was flat. Alice flushed horribly red; this was certainly not something she'd ever been accused of before. What made it even worse was that Lorina gave a gentle smile, eyelids fluttering as she effortlessly kept the gaze of the pensive, handsome, careless, keen hat maker, and murmured,

"I find it quite clever, really."

"Not really?" said Alice, astonished.

"Yes, really," said Lorina, flashing her a bit of a glare from under her wildly fluttering eyelashes. Alice folded her arms.

"Well, I must say," she said, putting her nose in the air, "I'm quite overwhelmed by your selection here, Mr. Millidasher. One would almost think you had a penchant for hats."

"I do, at that," admitted the hat maker with gravity; his eyes never left Lorina's face.

"One might almost," stressed Alice, "call it a craze."

The hat maker raised a hand and scratched his head through his thick red hair. "One might almost," he said, "but then, there's no end to the things one might almost do. One might _almost_ manage to be polite to a stranger, for one thing. And one might almost give a hat away practically free, should the right customer be convinced to buy." He bent and picked up the trodden-on troubadour, and put it in Lorina's limp, ladylike hand.

Alice sighed. "Oh, dear," she said to herself, quietly. She was, by this point, quite convinced that this was in fact the Hatter— at least, what she remembered about the Hatter certainly seemed to be echoed in this strange young man. But the manner in which he was gazing at her older sister was most unwelcome, and she was determined to make him admit who he was. Whether he liked it or not.

"I say," she said, brightly, "do you have any tea?"

The hat maker turned his head very slowly and looked down at her. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, and Alice subsided slightly.

"I do believe," he said, "that you have the most distracted mind of anyone I've ever met."

This was rich, coming from him— if he was who she thought he was, at any rate— but Alice couldn't very well say that without explaining herself fully. And with his keen gaze on her, and her sister standing just there, she was loathe to do so. The hat maker's gimlet stare was interrupted, blessedly, by a rattle and a bang from the back of the shop.

"I've found the answer!" came a cheerful voice, and another man emerged from a door that Alice had not previously noticed; his arms spread in the air, he clutched a dangerously full tea pot in one hand and sheaf of papers in the other. "Why is a raven— oh, hullo," he broke off suddenly, realizing that he was not alone. He blinked passively at the tableau of hat maker and customers before him, and finding both hands occupied, was forced to use his elbow to push his spectacles farther up his flat, sloping nose. A thatch of dark hair sprouted from his oddly-shaped head, and when he smiled his teeth were clearly in evidence. "Well, what's the matter?" he asked, when no one spoke to him. "Is no one glad to see me?" He turned his eyes to the hat maker. "Cat got your tongue?" he inquired pleasantly.

This innocent question turned the hat maker abruptly furious."I _told _you never to mention _him_ to me again," he seethed through his teeth.

The assistant gave a bewildered, frantic shrug. "Well, I _do_ apologize, I _do_ apologize, I'm sure. Hmm." He peered keenly through his spectacles at Alice. "What have we here? Don't tell me I've interrupted you in the midst of something, Carter."

"Just as I was hitting my stride," said the hat maker, still through his teeth and not giving an inch.

"O really?" said the assistant, through a yawn. "You looked as though you were standing quite still, to me. Not something that could be said for yonder lady, there," and he gestured towards Lorina, who self-consciously placed a hand at her neck.

"Yonder lady," proclaimed the hat maker, somewhat ponderously, "is a prospective customer and as such due all diligence and respect and duty and phrenology and listlessness as she demands— _right_?" The assistant put both hands up as though his employer had pointed a gun at him with the last word, and backed off a step or two.

"Volatile, isn't he?" whispered Alice to him. The hat maker's head shot up.

"And _no whispering_!" he bellowed, before smiling gently at Lorina and, taking her by the shoulder, turning her away. The assistant gave a weak smile and spoke out of the side of his mouth.

"Well, that's old Carter for you. It's his time of the month, you know."

"Time of the month? repeated Alice, somewhat bewildered.

Obligingly, the assistant lifted his wrist and eyed his watch. "Two fifty-five."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then you shall have it," he proclaimed gallantly, and bowed to her with a flourish.

"No, no, I'm afraid I don't understand. _What_ is Mr. Carter's time of the month?"

"Tea time," said the assistant, blinking rapidly with fair eyelashes. "He only wants his tea, d'you see? One's bound to be a bit impatient when one can't have one's tea, isn't one?" He brandished the tea pot at Alice; the liquid slipped out of the lid and over the edge with a quiet burble. "Ouch, it's hot. Don't touch it!"

"I wasn't about to," said Alice, who had her hands tucked behind her back.

"Oh," said the assistant, and was quiet for a moment. "Don't touch it!"

"May I ask your name?" queried Alice, grown tired of this repetitive conversation. She was not the least bit inclined to touch the teapot, which was steaming slightly.

"Certainly you may," said the assistant, and thought for a moment in silence. "Oh! You mean right now. Certainly you may. Mr. Hasen, at your assistant." He bowed once more to her, and overbalancing at the nadir, stumbled forward with his head down, splashing tea everywhere. Alice instinctively reached for the pot, and drew her hand back immediately after touching it, sucking on her fingers.

"Ouch!"

"I _told_ you!" said Mr. Hasen triumphantly. "Women! They never, never listen when a body tells them things. They _will_ go on and do just as they please."

"I was only trying to _save_ it—" said Alice, somewhat defensively, but Mr. Hasen was no longer paying attention to her. Instead his gaze was directed to the curious spectacle of Mr. Carter and Lorena, trying on hats with a steady air that implied they intended to work their way gradually through the contents of the entire shop.

"All this time," said the assistant, somewhat dreamily, his eyes glazing over slightly. "All this time, searching—"

Alice followed his line of vision and put her fists on her hips. "For a hat?" she said, somewhat spitefully. She was referring to Lorena, who was smiling and fluttering her eyelashes in a way that seemed to Alice most undignified. The hatter, in turn, was grinning down at her and occasionally patting at his thick auburn hair as though to press it more closely to his head. The two of them were, combined, a display that seemed calculated to aggravate Alice. She wished they would both put hats on— large ones, that would cover their faces.

But Mr. Hasen, nose twitching, was not looking at Lorena. Instead, he directed her attention to Mr. Carter alone.

"No, not for a hat," he said softly. "But for a head to wear it. Ever since we opened our doors, he scrutinizes each and every one, looking for the right person. She's missing, you know."

Alice turned to him, eyes wide. "Who is?"

"The girl," said Mr. Hasen, and seemed ill disposed to elucidate.

"What girl?"

"The one he's looking for," snapped the assistant, now in a bit of a huff. "He's looking for the one who is missing, be_cause_ she's gone missing, and he wants to find her. He can't remember what she looks like— it's been some time. He knows only that the hat will fit, and only she can wear it."

"And he thinks Lorena is the one?" pressed Alice. "Why, she's never been missing a day in her life!"

Mr. Hasen turned to her, excitedly. "And are you in a position to guarantee that? To promise that your sister is not the missing miss, miss?"

"Certainly," Alice swore cooly, placing her hand upon her heart. "There's not the slightest doubt on the subject. She is my sister, you know. I'd know if she'd ever been missing."

Mr. Hasen tapped his fingers together thoughtfully, and sniffed. "Then we should undoubtedly inform my friend and employer. Then, no longer shall he waste his time with your sister!"

"Wonderful," said Alice stoutly. She couldn't quite explain, even to herself, why the spectacle of Lorena and Mr. Carter should bother her so much. But bother her it undeniably did; and the sooner the two were separated, she considered, the better. Perhaps then this hatter would remember that he was, in fact, the Hatter, and would, further, recall Alice as well. It would never do if she had to remind him herself.

"And then," went Mr. Hasen on dreamily, "we can have our tea."

Something finally reached Alice on the issue of the assistant's identity— she turned and eyed him seriously. Yes, no doubt about it, he was familiar, in that same vague half-hearted way in which Mr. Carter was tugging at her memory.

"Have you known him long?" she queried, curiously.

Mr. Hasen stroked dreamily at where his mustache would be, had he possessed one. "Long as I can remember, in truth," he said. "We've been in the business for, oh— what would you say if I told you over a hundred years?"

Alice smiled gently. "I would say that was quite impossible."

"Oh yes, oh yes," said Mr. Hasen, ruminatively, still stroking away at the nonexistent mustache. "Oh yes, well— I won't say _that_, then."

The puzzle of his identity remained, for the moment, a bit of a mystery; and Alice turned her attention back to her sister and the hatter. "Hadn't we better tell him, then?"

"Hmm? Tell him what?" Mr. Hasen was still counting years in his head.

"Tell him that Lorena is not the one he's looking for," said Alice, folding her arms. Mr. Hasen shook his head a little, and tapped one finger on his soft, rounded chin.

"Nonsense, nonsense. He'll figure it out for himself any day now. In fact, yes, I believe he's almost on the verge of discovery! Or," he amended, peering keenly in the hatter's direction, "he is ill."

"But it was your idea," countered Alice, peevishly.

"Nonsense," said Mr. Hasen again, and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "I'd never say anything so foolish."

"But you did!" insisted Alice; so caught up was she with the argument that she failed to realize that Mr. Carter and Lorena had advanced on them once more; failed to realize, that is, until she heard the hatter say, "I did not!" in a rather defensive tone.

"Nor did I!" said Mr. Hasen, stretching himself up to his full height.

Mr. Carter reciprocated, doing him one better as he had an inch on his associate. "I deny it!"

"I denied it first!" cried Mr. Hasen.

"Not in _my_ hearing," said his employer. Mr. Hasen pouted, Mr. Carter swore, and Lorena caught hold of Alice's arm.

"We must go," she murmured, "while they're distracted—" and before Alice could say a word, Lorena had pulled her bodily from the shop.

"Why, whatever is the matter?" cried Alice, for she could see that Lorena was pale; and all she could think, for a heatedly blinding white moment, was that Mr. Carter, overcome, had professed his love for her. Yes, this he had undoubtedly done, and proposed marriage forthwith. And Lorena, who had had more than her share of proposals already, would have said yes— had she been truly conscious of the man himself, how could she help but say yes, with that gaze upon her? Alice felt ill. Or perhaps she had only said _maybe_, that she needed time to think about it, that she needed to ask her parents' advice. This was meant to be a comforting thought, but Alice remained uncomforted. And the longer that Lorena merely stood there swaying, without telling her which it was, the more uncomforted Alice felt.

Finally Lorena took a deep breath.

"By my life," she said, "the man is mad!"

Alice went very still.

"I never heard such a chatterer!" Lorena went on, waving her arms about in the air. "First of all he asked me if I knew the difference between a raven and a writing desk."

"And what did you say?" asked Alice, unable to help herself.

"I said, of course I know the difference. One has feathers, the other pigeon-holes. Then he got rather flustered and confused and said he had misspoke— the similarities were what he was after. But he wouldn't let me speak, and instead he told me of the time he found a dormouse in his hat, and put it in a tea pot—"

"The hat?" queried Alice.

"The dormouse," clarified Lorena. She put a hand to her forehead. "That is not all— oh, sister dear, I wish that were the extent of it, but that man's madness does go beyond anything I've ever heard tell of. He spoke of a Queen who beheaded a cat, only to be followed around by the cat's head ever afterwards. And the things he said about bees, Alice!"

"Bees?" said Alice. This was a new one.

Lorena was quite upset by it, however, and clutched her sister by the collar. "Bees!"

"Bees," repeated Alice once more, and patted her sister on the hand carefully, beginning to smile. It was an odd smile, a relieved one. Nothing was quite as it seemed; perhaps, after all, she should have expected that. "Lorena dear, I wonder if perhaps he was putting you on? It is _such_ a cliche that he should, indeed, be mad as a hatter when he _is_ a hatter."

"Oh, no," said Lorena, with a delicate little shudder. "I am quite sure Mr. Carter is mad, Alice. Then he spoke of the size of my head, and how it was not quite right! I ask you, honestly— could there be a sane man who would say such a thing?"

Alice leaned backward and scrutinized her sister closely. "Surely not," she said, comfortingly. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps he is mad after all. Just you listen to me, sister dear— I know how to deal with mad things." She patted Lorena on the hand once more. "Mother will be wondering where we are. She was to meet us in the dress shop, you know."

Lorena looked around vaguely. "Oh yes— I do recall, I believe. But sure, Alice—"

"Don't you worry," said Alice stoutly, and repeated, "_I_ know how to deal with mad things. Do you go on and meet Mother. I will follow shortly."

With only a bit more coaxing and convincing, Lorena was taking short, hurried steps towards the next-door shop, not even glancing backwards over her shoulder to see what Alice was up to. Alice, truth be told, wasn't quite sure what she was about, herself— she merely folded her hands and steadied her breath for a moment before she pushed open the door to the hat maker's.

There was only the assistant inside, and he pulled his spectacles down his nose to look over them at her.

"A problem, miss?"

"Missing miss, yes," said Alice under her breath, but for his benefit she said only, "Indeed, Mr. Hasen. I neglected to get what I came for— a hat."

He scrutinized her closely for a moment, then gave a deep nod and a twitching flick at one ear. A deep breath was the only warning she got before he reared back and bellowed, "Car_ter_!"

And there he was, Carter the hatter, as instantly and completely as though he'd never been anywhere else. His eyes were as keen as ever and as they were now fixed on Alice, she gave a tiny shiver of her own.

"I'd like to buy a hat, if you please," she said with perfect politeness; but Mr. Carter only stared.

"Why?" he demanded.

"To keep my brain from getting wet," said Alice before she could think it through; "brains are_ so_ hard to wring dry."

Mr. Carter gazed at her now more cooly. "Indeed," he said.

"Indeed," repeated Alice, with gravity.

He stepped closer and his eyes were so keen, so horribly, wonderfully keen. Alice twisted her fingers together and waited while he searched her through; wondering what he was looking for, wondering what he would find. To one side, Mr. Hasen sniffed repeatedly and it dawned on her quite suddenly who he was— but that was immaterial, at the moment. She could think of nothing past the steady gaze of the Hatter, and whatever it was they were moving closer to with every breath.

His hands were moving behind his back, and as she observed, they emerged, clutching within them a dimly glowing silver crown. It was oddly familiar, and it took her a few moments of childhood backtracking to realize that yes, this was the crown she'd been awarded when she reached the end of the Chessboard, in Wonderland, so long ago. She'd lost it when she'd returned home, but here it was, in the Hatter's hand.

"I kept it for her," he said.

Mr. Hasen chattered his teeth and said, "The tea's getting cold."

"Patience!" barked Mr. Carter, swinging his gaze towards his assistant. "After all this time—"

Alice reached up and guided his hands downwards, leading the crown to her head. She had grown since leaving Wonderland, of course; but the crown fit nicely to her, settling gently if heavily on her hair. Mr. Carter held his hands there for a few seconds longer, looking down on her; then dropped them and stepped back.

He held his breath, then let it out in a whoosh and shook his head.

"It's crooked," he declared. "It needs to be straightened."

"I told you that hammer wouldn't suit it," said Mr. Hasen, angrily.

"It was the _best_ hammer," protested Mr. Carter. "Anyway I know I can fix it. And then it will all be fine, it will all go back to the way it was before, and— "

He reached for her, and Alice backed away, clutching the crown to her head.

"_Nonsense_," she said ferociously. "As if I would let you take it! When I have just now found it again!"

Mr. Carter and Mr. Hasen glanced at each other.

"But I can fix it," said the hatter. "I know I can."

Alice stood and stared at him.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" she demanded peevishly. "After all this time, I would really quite like to know."

He stared at her a moment, baffled, then said, "I should be delighted to answer you, only— only— it isn't, my dear. Do you see? I don't think they have much in common at all."

Alice drew her hands down, and smiled at him a bit warily.

"Do you know who I am?" she questioned. Mr. Carter cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat.

"That's really a much less important question than the one I could pose to you," he said. "Which is— do _you_ know who you are?"

Alice took a moment to consider this, with a slight frown. "I'm almost certain I did this morning," she said. "But then we came into town, and—" She looked up at him. "I am sorry, Mr. Carter. Could we perhaps leave that unanswered? It seems I am still discovering it."

A long moment was allowed to pass unmolested, and then the Hatter nodded.

"Well, the hat fits anyway," he grumbled, and she finally relented, took it off and handed it over to him, carefully. "And I can have it for you in a day or so. If that please you, young miss—" He paused then, and looked at her once again seriously.

"Alice," she told him, and made him a curtsey. "My name is Alice."

"Come back tomorrow," he told her. "Tea time."

She smiled at him, blindly, brilliantly, and smiled indiscriminately at Mr. Hasen as well, and said she would. Then she could do naught but turn and find the door, which led out into the sunshine.

_I know how to deal with mad things._

_Descend to their level._

Alice left her crown behind, and with a lightness to her steps, went to find a frock to be sixteen in. Her daydreams followed her.


End file.
